


Random Tumblr Roundup

by RawWriting



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Wonder Woman (2017)
Genre: F/M, Furry, Gen, M/M, Mpreg, Multi, Omega Bucky Barnes, Omegaverse, Other, Teletubbies, Troll Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-11
Updated: 2018-08-24
Packaged: 2019-06-25 19:17:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15647235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RawWriting/pseuds/RawWriting
Summary: Everything from Bucky trolling to supercute fluff to nasty smut.Not connected to other parts in this, unless stated otherwise.





	1. Chapter 1

"Huh" Bucky stops scrolling and squints at the screen.

“Tony? What’s a Furry?” Bucky asks, tilting his tablet back and forth, as if trying to decipher something. 

Tony, who is currently messing with a delicate part and thus is currently completely distracted, answers absently, “People who dress up in full body animal suits, like mascot outfits, to have sex and act like sentient animals.” 

Bucky blinks, and then grunts, “Huh. Guess that makes more sense than her trying to make a coat out of them. Wait till I show Steve.” He begins to leave the room, when Tony finally realizes what Bucky just asked. He jerks back, bashing his head and burning his hand, all while shouting. He stumbles from the bench and is pulling his finger up to suck it as he desperately scrambles after the already departed Bucky. “WAIT, NO COME BACK! Why did you ask that???” 

But it’s too late by the time the soundproofed lab doors swish open, because down the hall, Steve’s voice is getting that high, squeaky outraged note as he yells “She wanted to do  ** _WHAT_**  with the puppies???” 

Tony slinks back into the lab and pulls up Bucky’s tumblr, wincing at the most recent reblog. “Whooboy.” He mutters, and he really can’t be sure if Bucky is trolling Steve or honestly confused, but either way he knows Steve is going to need a whole lot of punching bags and drawing supplies to work out the upset. 

If it is trolling, he swears he will find better things to distract the man. He is a menace when bored. 


	2. In which the Author watched Teletubbies because a friend was feeling sad

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pure unadulterated Babies ad Omo fluff.  
> Poor Bucky is out-numbered and all alone with the super tots.  
> Teletubbies to the rescue.

Bucky is more than a little pregnant when he discovers the power of Teletubbies. His beloved alpha is out saving the world, literally, and their three little ragamuffins are running him ragged. While this time he is pregnant with only one, he is showing as much at five months as he did with the triplets. 

Stevie is, as usual, a complete dream, dark hair a little halo of wisps around his head, sleepy and nestled easily against the curve of Bucky’s rapidly growing belly where he is gumming his omo’s shirt enough to leave a messy wet spot. The two others are what have him mildly stressing being alone with the babies. The eldest, their little Annie, is wrestling with the fancy “always stays sitting up” teddy bear slightly bigger than she is, and the fact that at nine months old she is winning the battle to pin it says a lot about her heritage. She gets a lot of her stubbornness and fighting spirit from her Alpha. Theo, sweetheart that he is, has had to be pulled away from attempting to disassemble the roomba three times now. With his strength, he’s already managed to break three of them but the intelligence displayed in wanting to see how they work just delights both his parents too much to be annoyed at the destruction. Bucky, as always, is more worried that somehow Theo will hurt himself with the pieces. 

Bucky has never been so grateful that Stevie is, for all intents and purposes, a standard human, with the only traces of the serum’s effects being a slightly faster healing speed and a boosted metabolism. Bucky is desperate, and, since his saving grace, Maria, is out right now, Bucky does something probably a bit dangerous, and asks the Television “What is good for Babies to watch?”.

Teletubbies is offered, and Bucky eagerly turns that on by saying “Play the Teletubbies from the first episode.” He is grateful all over again that their house has all these automated tools to hand. It takes Theo a bit to realize the TV has something for him, but ever attentive Annie whips her head around at the first giggle of what looks like a baby in the sun. She plops down, the high pigtails of her curly hair making a perfect pair of stubby wings for the bear as she uses it for what it is intended as- a place to lean and rest. She stares up, enthralled, and Theo joins her as the strange showerhead looking things push up from the grass. By the time it is focused on the clip of a child pushing himself around on a bike, Theo has crawled his way over to his sister and both babies are leaning on the bear, sharing it’s back support as they watch. Two dark heads of hair, closer to black than brown, rest against each other till their hair blends. Both children are nearly silent as they watch. The tools the little blond boy uses have Theo wiggling and making “same!” in ASL again and again. 

Bucky laughs softly, rubbing Stevie’s back as he makes a disgruntled noise. “That’s right Theo, he looks like he likes taking things apart just as much as you do. Maybe we can get you some tools like that, so you can play at taking things apart safely, practice with them.” Bucky might as well have not talked at all, because the pumping of the tire has the two enthralled once more. Stevie finally wakes up, face screwing up to cry at having his nap disturbed. He struggles with sign language, hands barely becoming coordinated enough to do it now. His lagging behind his siblings in so many ways frustrates him to tears regularly as he can’t express his upset any other way. Bucky has so much sympathy for it, every time he sees it, and it makes him miss his old friend, the sickly boy that had more gumption than body. “shhh hey, Stevie, shhhh my little Chayim, It’s okay.” Bucky rubs his back and lifts his youngest to see the screen as well. The enthusiasm and joy of the boy getting his little ride along bike trailer set up with his dad makes the smaller boy chortle with delight, arms waving in a jerky and uncoordinated imitation of the screen boy’s actions. Bucky savors the peace for a bit. 

Bucky begins to worry something is wrong with the show when it repeats the clip of the boy, but if anything all three of his children get more excited. Theo and Annie pumps the bear’s arms and Stevie wiggles and squirms till he is helped to stand to try to do the up and down motion too. He then sits, not on Bucky, but after sharp grunts and pinching at the blue cloth, on the other little pillow chair Bucky had stitched for him, the sturdy corduroy shaped and stitched just so to help him stay sitting upright just like his siblings, but letting him rock as he wanted to. Bucky often has to cajole him into it and away from him. He almost can’t believe all three of his children are entertained, and none of them are getting into anything, or wanting cuddles or- anything. By the time they got to The Old Duke of York two episodes later, Bucky had carefully pulled out the crochet bag, and begun working on the new sweater for Stevie. 

The music was, interesting. The singer was, not the best to his ears, sounding almost like that awful forced mid Atlantic accent Carry Grant would sometimes use. All three of the babies were used to Bucky singing when he put them down for naps. It was, like magic. All three were nodding off, by the second repetition. Bucky carefully paused the show before the children’s cheers, taking up singing in his own husky barritone, all the slowest old melodies of his own childhood. He sang, and the children slept, and over the next hour and a half, he finished the sweater, and sang while keeping an eye on the children, working to make them all strips of banana and chunks of hard boiled egg whites, and a few other little soft things, like steamed carrots, thankful all over again that none of the children had developed any allergies yet. 

He made up a large shared plate for the two, and a smaller plate for Stevie. He knew it was a bad idea to have let them nap so long, and letting them eat here in the living room was further setting a bad precident… but, just this once, wouldn’t hurt. Bucky trailed off singing, and settled the sippy cups of juice before each child. Prince Anthony(Ann for short) for Theo, the bright purple cup showing the first male omega princess, and his older sister, the first Alpha Princess, Elsa, for Annie. Bucky had discovered the power of Disney, and if it didn’t cause fights sometimes, he’d use it more often. 

For Stevie, he brought over a cup with a large set of raised bumps like a maze of stars across it. Stevie loved tactile things he could trace, far more than he liked images of characters. All three children pointed at the TV and signed “more” nearly in synch, and with a laugh, Bucky agreed. “Okay, okay, since you all agree. But you all have to keep eating your food till it’s all gone, okay?” 

Three nods, and then, messy sounds of eating and smacking lips, but no fighting or arguing, and all three plates were clean. By the time the yodeling singing puppet in the pink house had faded away, Bucky was looking up what items could be delivered in time for the bath. 

Another two episodes later, he was getting the package from the front door. When he turned off the TV, all three children stared with huge eyes as he showed them his order. “New bath toys, but you can each only play with them if you don’t fuss about the bath.” He signed along as he spoke, and Stevie shrieked, but Annie and Theo both nodded eagerly. The bath was a rousing success, as was the new nightlight. By the time all three were asleep, Bucky had ordered a bunch of new toys and looked up similar shows. He was excited for this Fraggle Rock show, while Teletubbies was a bit simple, he thought he could really love the puppets of the other show. 

But if Teletubbies kept working their magic, he was more than happy to sit through a thousand hours of a giggling baby in the sun. He yawned and curled up, lifting the phone to take a picture of the family, all sleeping around him in the family nest, the Teletubby nightlight in the background. “Hey love, we’re all just fine. Keep saving the world- between the new miracle of Teletubbies, and how amazing our kids are, we’ve got a happy nest.” He nuzzled the kids again, then drifted off to sleep. And if he dreamed in ridiculous sounds of rising periscopes and childish “Uh-ho!”s, then that was fine. 

Because he woke to “uh-oh!”s from his kids, hugging each other and giggling together as they pretended to be Teletubbies. He had a recipe for Tubby Toast to try for breakfast, and the day was gonna be a lot of fun, even if it was just him and the babies all day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Debating spinning this off on it's own with just, pure fluffy sweet Omo! and Dad! ficlets. Thoughts?


	3. That ABO Diana/Bucky RP's Starter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The starter that pushed Bucky out of MCU and a world with no Omegaverse, into the DCU as an omega.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This universe has accidental dubcon and a LOT of misunderstandings. IF I do get permission from my RP partner to turn this world into a fic, please be awareof the themes that will be struggled through early on.   
> Romani Bucky features heavily in this verse. No understanding of the Roma or Romani culture is needed to rasp this, I think, but if something needs clarified, please do let me know!
> 
> G*psy and other racial/ethnic slurs used in period manner.

It’s hard to find a balance, even here, where they speak the tongue of his Papa and no one thinks of the Howling Commandos. In a place HYDRA forgot, in a place that has no memories or preconceived notions about him besides the way he looks now. He finds simple things to focus on. The bite of plums so dark and black that they speak of flavors he’d only ever tasted in jams before. He thinks it is the fruit that makes him stay here. The familiar people in the building, so run down the water only worked a few days in the months he had been there, despite scores of men working and swearing at the pipes. Even the lilting curses remind him of a time so long ago it seems untouched by all the struggles to follow. Between the language, the people and the bite of the plums, the smell of the cooking in the flats around him, Bucky drifts most nights in safer times. 

He dreams not of war, but of the special treats his Papa had made, laughing at his son and daughters as they tried to help. Bucky knows in modern times, the fact that his father cooked and cleaned just as much as his mother, is not all that strange. But in the time, it had been yet another thing to separate them from other families. His mother had called Steve a Gentile, if a good one. And Bucky had tried to understand for most of his early life. Papa wasn’t Jewish either, but she didn’t call him that. It was only as he came to grow older he realized the other thing Ma was saying with that. Christian. Part of the dominant class, even as he was half to a cripple, Stevie had the right hair, the right skin, and most importantly, the right religion, to be forgiven a myriad of sins no one would ever forgive Bucky for. 

In summer when the other children ran wild in the sun growing nut brown and wild, Bucky never stood out. He laughed and ran and played. In the winter, though, when even the swarthy Italian bambinos began to lighten towards milk, Bucky always retained a bit more of the summer’s tan. When he asked about it, his father put his own hand, much darker, next to his, and told him that unlike his sisters, he had inherited more of the sun’s love. It had comforted him at the time. 

It was less of a comfort, when his father was killed. When Bucky had stepped up to be the man of the house. His Ma remarried, a gentile man, with hair as red as fire and a temper to match. He never laid into his sisters or his ma, especially not his new, youngest sister. But there was nothing Bucky could do right. It seemed only natural that he spend more and more time over at the Rogers. The memories stayed roughly happy there. He lived more like a brother, helping Sarah and Steve, caring for Stevie when he was poorly, and keeping him out of the worst of his scrapes when he wasn’t. 

It was a full time job, minding Stevie, and if the price to pay for being accepted into the lives of the Rogers was a baptism… well… he never let it phase him. He couldn’t. Bucky sometimes, in the darkest moments, felt guilt for the heartbreak he must have caused his mother. For how she must have worried for her son, for how he was leaving her, and himself by pieces. 

Here, he didn’t have others of the tribes nearby, he didn’t have anyone with a Torah, but he had many stories of his Father’s distant kin. He spoke the language, and as his skin darkened in the sun, he looked more the part. He felt nearly at peace with himself, with the world. He had done horrible things, yes, his body had been not his own, his mind a thing to be wiped and programmed… but he could remember himself. Not just himself before the war, or himself the human, but himself the little boy loved by the sun. Himself that was a hero to his sisters for fixing their dolls. Himself that had stood up for Steve and watched out for him long before it was stay with the Rogers or go it alone far too young. 

Bucky had been acted on by outside forces nearly all his life. And here- he was in hiding. Here he was not safe- but here, he felt, he was as complete as he had been since before good men took his Papa from him just because they thought his skin and music made him bad. Before Gypsy was a word Bucky applied to a dead man who had been his mountain and guide. 

Bucky had always known it was fleeting, this peace. He had not however, expected it to be his face on newspapers that caused it to end. Had not expected his face, pale in comparison, washed out and lacking the kiss of the sun, to be tied to yet more death. He knew that this was HYDRA. He knew this was to flush him out. He knew the words would seal everything he had discovered away. He knew in his bones- that he would never, could never, be the man they wanted him to be, and ever find this peace again. He wasn’t strong enough. 

He could fight- but if he did, every blow would be mirrored. Every shot would be taking out parts of himself too raw and fragile to bounce back, no matter his serum. If it was fight, or the world. If it was fight or Stevie dies… he would, of course he would… but it would be his own death. 

Bucky wasn’t ready to die. He wasn’t ready when the German Forces knocked down the door. He wasn’t ready when he dashed across the rooftop, desperate to be away, away, anywhere but here. He bashed into a strange gargoyle like statue on the corner of a roof, crumbling it as he ran from the strange superhuman man in a cat themed suit. Between one step and the next, he was enveloped in swirling pink and green so lurid it seared itself into his eyes. 

The pain struck him as an after-effect, the screaming wails that escaped him nearly inhuman as he struggled against the pull, sinking into the shrinking portal as if being eaten alive while he struggled against it’s sucking tide. The last thing he saw of reality for an eternity of pain, was that cat suit man charging at the portal and stopping short as it was barely wide enough for a hand but sucked at him like an exposed vacuum.

Then- there was only the feel of every molecule being split open and put back together. It was the only way he could quantify the unending wave of pain that moved up and then back down his body. He fell through colors he had no concept of, things his mind could not grasp but his eyes, enhanced as they were, swore were real. He was terrified that this was HYDRA’s new plot. That this was punishment and preparation. He never wanted to fight again. He just wanted peace. He wanted to rest. He wanted to make cookies and sing the songs he had spent his time there memorizing and learning. He wanted the pain to stop. He wanted to do whatever it took for this nauseating horror ride to stop. 

And then with a tearing like the rending of his sanity, or maybe just reality, he was falling through the air. He was dazed and terrified and in so much pain he couldn’t move, as his nerves processed the cessation of that constant rending and remaking as yet more pain. He desperately looked around for the HYDRA agents that must be nearby, and he saw the glass pyramid of the Louvre. He managed to whimper out, brows furrowed and confused, “Paris? Thought that Stevie got em all there.” confused and scared and barely aware of the powerful person coming up to him, but recognizing that feminine footfall, yet powerful and predatory stride. He didn’t dare look at the Matron, knowing they were the harshest when establishing themselves he whimpered out, knowing it was foolish but desperate enough to not care- “Please, please just kill me. I don’t want to fight anymore.” the edge of a sob strangling itself as finally his body gave into the mercy of passing out, collapsing with the weight of his backpack a pale comfort. A shred of hope if he can break his programming enough to escape, that his memories that he had fought so hard for, the songs and joys he had managed, would be there to guide him if he could just manage to escape once more. Then, there was blackness. 

While he was unaware of the changes his body had undergone, here in this world, he had become something called an Omega, and the air that had come out of the portal with him was saturated in the putrid and rotting sweet stink of an omega tortured and abused, terrified and grieving and desperate. Of the raw sort of stink even the horror filled charnel-houses of second World War seldom let build up, for how even the most hardened of Nazi Alphas couldn’t ignore the nausea and agitation it would bring if stewed that long. The need to do anything to fix it. Yet here, Bucky was. Under his clothes, his skin is scarred and lined with decades of abuse, and carrying notebooks filled with remembered horrors- with details of being wiped, of being unmade, of his horror at what was done to him, at what his body had been made to do with him as a passenger. 

But also notebooks filled with his struggles to recapture his good memories. Recapture his childhood, his joys, his Father’s people and their songs, and what he had learned of him, of the joys of the world in the smallest things. Of loss but fragile hope, always crouched with- “if you can re-find these- you can re-learn these things” and other notes horrifying in their implications, especially when paired with the other notebooks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay- PLEASE do comment with if you guys want this as it's own fic, I can start moving all the RP over ifthe Diana player is okay with it.


End file.
